RICK AND THE dragon fell and fell. The dark walls and towers of the fortress swept up at Rick’s side as he sped down past them. The silver moat-water flashed and the red earth screamed up to meet him. Rick held on desperately to the dragon’s neck, waiting for the impact he felt certain would kill him.
It was a bad way to die—and even worse than death was his failure. His heart was black with failure as he fell. What had he ever done but fail? He had failed to fulfill his athletic promise. Failed to become the man of the house when his father had disappeared. And now he had failed in his mission into the Realm . . . failed to rescue Favian and Mariel . . . failed utterly.
The long fall went on and on. The backwash of wind grew stronger as the dragon tumbled faster. Rick felt the creature’s neck grow flaccid and insubstantial in his grasp as the beast’s lifeblood drained out through its arrow wounds. Only at the last moment did the dragon seem to understand that this was the end for it. Only then did it make one last attempt to save itself. Letting out a groan, it flapped its wings a final time. It was a weak effort, but it did seem to slow the downward plunge a little.
Then the earth rushed up and the crash came with a noise like thunder. The next thing Rick knew, he was flying helplessly through the air.
He could not believe what happened next. He hit the ground flat on his back. He hit hard—it made his bones ache. But—and this was what shocked him—he was still alive! Not just alive, but fully conscious. The dragon’s great body underneath him had absorbed most of the impact. Rick was hurled off the beast—and he smacked into the ground at speed—but he’d fallen harder on the football field. He was jarred by the impact, but unharmed.
Fresh hope flooded through him and brought him leaping to his feet. There was chaos on every side of him. He saw his dragon, the creature of the air—dead on impact—dissolving into sparking purple energy before it vanished with a flash. He saw the swarm of other dragons circling and screaming in the sky above him. Saw the archers on the fortress walls high overhead, leaning over to direct their bows down at him. He saw, too, that the front gate of the fortress was rattling open and more soldiers were pouring out of the building onto the red field, charging after him.
And he saw the floating purple diamond of the portal point glowing in the air about twenty yards away.
Then it was all gone—all digitalized, dissolving into static. The fizzing nothingness went on for a long second, frighteningly long. Rick knew he was out of time. His mind was disintegrating and taking the Realm with it. For an instant, he felt he was on the very edge of existence.
But in the next moment, the Realm snapped back into clarity. The static vanished. Rick wasn’t gone quite yet.
He glanced reflexively at his palm. Forty-nine seconds left. No time to think. No time to do anything but run—run toward the purple glow of the portal point.
He took off. Stretching his legs as if heading for a touchdown, he dashed across the front yard of the fortress. Quick deadly whispers filled his ears as a fresh volley of arrows rained down on him from the ramparts, the projectiles jabbing into the earth to his left and right. Somewhere in the sky above him, the dragons screamed as they spotted him. One sharp cry grew quickly louder as a creature of the air launched itself into a diving attack.
But the diamond of the portal point was right in front of him. He was almost there.
I’m going to make it!
Then one of the guards—the first to have raced out through the fortress gate—reached him. It stepped into his path, blocking his way.
What a monster it was! It stood on two legs, as tall as Rick. It was clothed in red and silver armor like a man, but it was not a man, not at all. It had an extended face something like the face of a crocodile. It had a long lizardly tail like a croc’s tail. It had sharp teeth and bloodshot yellow eyes. And it held a long, gleaming sword in its wickedly clawed hands.
Rick grabbed the hilt of his own sword and drew it from its scabbard quickly. The crocodile guard raised its weapon and swung. Its blade and Rick’s clashed together with a singing sound. Rick drew his weapon back to strike again.
Then the static—and nothingness. Rick froze, blinked, dazed. Clarity returned—but it was too late.
The guard had already unleashed another strike. Rick tried to dodge it, but the blade hit his armor on the shoulder—and struck through to bite into his flesh. Rick screamed in pain. In an instinctive spasm of self-defense, he reeled away, jabbing his sword point in the direction of the guard. The point struck the lizard-man on his breastplate, driving him back a step. There was red pain again as the guard’s blade was torn out of Rick’s shoulder.
Rick’s head swam with agony. He felt his blood pumping out of him. He felt himself fading into unconsciousness. The whole world was crisscrossed with lines of purple energy. It was dissolving into nothingness. He was dissolving . . .
But he turned and saw the portal point again, looming large, right beside him. He plunged into it headfirst. He willed his wounded spirit down a snaking cylinder of white light.
There was a liquid moment of un-being.
Then Rick woke up shrieking in mindless terror! He was trapped in a glass box the size of a coffin! Wrapped in some sort of metallic foil that gripped him tightly, that wouldn’t let him go!
He didn’t know where he was. There was nothing inside him but pain and confusion and fear. He went on screaming even as the lid of the box opened with an electric buzz.
Hands were grabbing at him. He fought them off wildly, screaming and screaming. Voices were shouting above him.
“Get him out of there!”
“Get a gurney!”
“Alert the infirmary!”
Rick’s eyes were wide and white with horror. He kept screaming, “Get off me! Get off me!”
Strong hands pushed his hands away and got a grip on his arms. He was dragged out of the box.
“My legs!” he shouted as he was dragged to his feet and a jolt of pain went through the lower half of him.
“It’s all right, you’re all right, Rick!” said a voice—a woman.
He turned and saw her. A smallish person in a dark suit. A serious face with short black hair. Who was she? A stranger. He didn’t recognize her.
Rick recoiled in fear from her even as the large blockheaded man beside him tried to keep hold of him, even as the pain in his legs threatened to overwhelm him.
“Who are you?” Rick shouted at the woman. “Where am I?”
“It’s me. Miss Ferris! You’re at the MindWar Project HQ!” The woman spoke loudly but with determination. “You’re back! You’re fine!”
Miss Ferris? The MindWar Project? Trying to take in the meaning of her words, Rick looked wildly around him. He saw monitors on the walls. Staring faces. His arm was covered in blood. There was a gash in his shoulder and the blood was coursing out of it.
“You’re all right! You’ll be all right!” the woman said. Then she shouted, “Where’s that gurney?”
Rick stared at her. Stared at the man holding him.
“Who am I?” he asked them. He could not remember. He could not remember anything.
The woman’s head whipped back toward him. He saw a flash of something in her eyes—something like fear. “Rick?” she said. “You’re Rick! You’re Rick Dial! You remember. Say you remember!”
He heard someone nearby mutter: “We’ve lost him. His mind is gone.”
Then Rick’s eyes rolled up in his head, and the room went dark. His agonized legs folded under him. He sank down toward the floor.
Darkness everywhere.